


So Much for the Afterglow

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M, PWP, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom had way more riding on the EMA Best Group outcome than anyone realized. Bill's been patient, but it's time for that last wall to come crashing down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Much for the Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much sat down in my own post-EMA afterglow and hit this hard. Thanks to regretterein for the banner, and to yougetajob and parallelheartz for last-minute midnight inspection. Dedicated to all my ladies on Twitter! (Esp. undrockroll for saying "write something sexi.")

Tom was sweating; his mind was a blank roaring field of white noise as the presenter fumbled with the black tri-fold envelopes. He couldn't meet Bill's eyes. He couldn't meet _anyone_ 's eyes as the penultimate moment hovered over the suddenly hushed crowd like a hammer waiting to drop. He thought someone might have given his shoulder a bracing clap, possibly Georg, but Tom was tuning out everything. He had a lot riding on this moment; more than any but one person knew.

"The winner is...Tokio Hotel!"

They sprang to their feet as mighty screams cut loose. Bill was grinning, Tom could see it out of the corner of his eye but even more than that, he could _feel_ it. Jost was hugging him, and possibly Georg too; Tom hovered awkwardly near his twin for his turn but Bill had already turned away and he was making his way for the stage.

Tom thought it was entirely possible that his palms were sweating.

He followed Bill up onstage like a man dazed, grateful for once that a mic wouldn't be shoved anywhere near his face as they accepted the award. Bill would do all of the talking and it was a damned good thing, because right now Tom was in no shape for it.

_"We'll go all the way if we win the EMAs this year, all right?"_

Tom watched the pop and flash of thousands of dazzling stars across the field of darkness and bobbing heads that made up the crowd. His tongue was thick in his mouth and he wanted to say something, anything, but Bill was saying it all for both of them – thank you so much. They had been up against industry juggernauts, American money-machines, and their little German teeny-rocker band had won again. A slow smile was spreading across his face, stirred up by the pleasant burn in his stomach. He hadn't had a single drop of alcohol yet, because they'd all wanted a flawless performance.

Georg was giving him an inquiring smirk as Tom jittered beside him. With a smirk of his own, Tom leaned in toward their friend. "How much you want to bet Bill's not going to even think of passing the mic, again?" Georg raised a single eyebrow in response, looking back to Bill. They both already knew the answer to that.

Before Tom knew it they were being ushered off the stage and Tom was desperately hoping someone would press a champagne flute into his hand, but no such luck. He had to admire the Hoff, almost, for coming to the show fully pre-loaded. On Tom's part, his coat was certainly large enough to hide a flask or two, but Bill had been adamant. No drinks until after the Best Group award was announced, and then they could drink until they dropped.

With all of the pyrotechnics on stage, getting tanked would have been a risky proposition anyhow. Tom had been worried enough as it was that some ill-placed jet would get too near his precious brother's flammable faux-hawk.

Bill's hand touched the small of his back and Tom became aware that he was sweating, again. _"We'll go all the way if we win the EMAs this year, all right?"_ Tom had been the one to make that promise, so sure that lightning couldn't possibly strike twice. Beating out Green Day had to be some kind of unthinkable, after all. Jesus, the _Jonas Brothers._ Surely that group had had a machine in the basement somewhere refreshing and re-voting like that one auto-Guitar Hero rig Tom had found online.

It was impossible, that was the point. Tom had promised "all the way" hinged on the outcome of the EMAs because there was just no way it was going to happen.

Yet the years-long dance that he and Bill had been performing around one another had to come to an end some time, Tom knew.

They'd done the harmless flirting for years. After some talks with management, Jost had even let that go – encouraged it in certain weird respects, once they'd all found out it hadn't hurt their careers and in some odd fashion seemed to propel it further. In private, though, unbeknownst to anyone, Tom and Bill had revolved ever closer to erasing any of the lines that could have ever kept them apart.

They'd been intimate for years – in fact, ever since getting their own apartment, they had been pretty much insatiable. And yet, and yet...

"Tom," Bill murmured, sounding amused. "Calm down, all right?" Bill sounded so cool, and Tom looked over to see that his little brother wasn't even sweating his makeup off anymore.

Tom tried to throw his twin a dirty look, but they were both so fucking happy that he couldn't maintain it for long. Bill knew why he was nerve-jittery, fingers twitching, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and fuck if he wasn't wearing too many layers. He wondered if they could clear out a bathroom for another half hour. He knew there was pretty much no chance in hell. Even then, if they did, it would only be enough to take the edge off – he wasn't going further than over the clothes action; they weren't doing it in a bathroom for their first time.

They'd done everything two people could trade in loving consent by hand and by mouth, and Bill had been pushing Tom for years to give him more than fingers. So Tom had made his flippant promise, unwilling to admit even to himself at the time how soul-deep terrified he was of taking that last step, of taking something from Bill that was something Tom never should have had, to begin with.

"If it makes you feel any better," Bill whispered in his ear right before they stepped up for their backstage awards photos, "I could top you?"

Tom threw his brother a withering 'ha, ha' look and then they were on, posing for their triumphant photos as they arrayed themselves around Bill and the bouncy MTV trophy, each of them crowding to get a finger on it. Privately Tom still thought that, like the other they'd won, the award looked cheap and rather useless. Despite that, Bill would enjoy lining it up on the shelf in one of their studios beside the others, and it was incredible recognition in the global music community. That was all that really mattered.

The show handlers herded them from one backstage area to another, and someone shoved a mic into Tom's hand. He crowded onto a sofa next to Bill, too self-conscious to even let his foot tap Bill's. They had a hotel in Berlin tonight, and now, and now...

Tom stared blankly at the dark-haired guy introducing himself as Pete Wentz and tried to bring his English to bear on the conversation. He and Bill had been practicing for the past few days, but their conversational English tended to degenerate into dirty bedroom phrases. That was okay, though, because his fans had gotten accustomed to hearing that sort of thing from him. He knew; he Googled himself on the internet.

"...how do I say, 'my penis is a flamethrower?'"

Tom barely cracked a smile as Georg muttered the German word off to his side. They kept the temperature hot backstage, he was definitely sweating into his black jacket, there was moisture on the back of his neck, and he'd promised to _go all the way_ if they won the EMAs. He looked over at Bill and his brother's eyes were glinting mischief; only Bill would be able to tell, right now, that Tom was closer to freaking out than he was hyped over having won the award.

They got back on track with their favorite dirty German crack to deliver to unsuspecting English speakers, then they were closing their thankfully brief interlude with Herr Wentz. The award show handlers were back to usher them to their places.

"Oh my God," Georg murmured. "Can we get to the after-party, already?"

"I hear there's booze there," Gustav commented, straight-faced.

Bill tsked loudly as they were herded back to their places. "But wasn't it worth it, being sober for that part of the show this year?"

"No," three voices answered him, and Bill made an exasperated noise in his throat.

Packed elbow to elbow in the press of security as they were shown back to their seats, Bill leaned against Tom and one hand found the hip under his jacket, finger threading into his belt-loop and tugging. Tom held his breath, finding that he had to close his eyes for an instant to get a grip on how incredibly turned on that single gesture made him. He wanted to go back to the hotel _now_.

He wanted to stay at the label party all night.

Bill flashed him a knowing look as they slid back into their seats, but said nothing. He did slide his foot up against Tom's, at last, and Tom leaned back into his seat and threw an arm along the back as he tried desperately to watch the rest of the show.

It was useless. Bill was radiating heat beside him and Tom had promised to _go there._ It was all he could think about now. He shifted in his seat, crossed and uncrossed his legs, and tried not to look over at his brother's wide, excited eyes or faintly parted lips. Bill was fucking excited, he was on top of the world, and he was dragging Tom right along with him by virtue of sheer proximity.

Oh jesus god, Tom was going to bust his zipper before they even got to the after party.

"Tom," Bill said beside him. A cool hand pressed to the back of Tom's jittering knee and Tom stilled it with an effort of will, worried that Bill would press harder if he didn't.

"Uh-huh," Tom grunted.

Bill gave him a sidewise look, the arch of a brow and teeth caught between his lip and it was incisive, flaying Tom to the core. Bill's eyes were sad and ever so faintly cynical now. He leaned in, and Tom began to lean away.

"We don't have to, you know," Bill whispered, his mouth almost but not quite brushing Tom's earlobe.

Tom quaked. If they touched at all right now, he was sure he'd lose it. And they had hours upon hours piling ahead before they would be alone again.

Wait, what?

Bill looked away and laced his hands over one knee, head lifted high as he pulled his spine into perfectly straight alignment. He was still thrumming with excitement, Tom could tell, but it was as though a light had been dimmed.

"Bill," Tom mumbled, submerged in the shrieks that greeted the next part of the program. His brother didn't look at him again, though.

The show closed and Tom fought a yawn as they huddled backstage again, now sharing flutes of the champagne that Jost proclaimed they so richly deserved.

"The piano was on fire!" Georg exclaimed. "Why didn't they tell me the piano would be on fire, too?"

"Get used to that being the _only_ thing about your performance on fire," Tom said with a wide grin, reminding himself already to work that into an interview at some point.

Bill cackled and chinked his glass hard enough against Tom's to threaten it with shattering. "I could have killed that Joss woman when she started babbling about pyrotechnics..."

"Oh, is that why you hugged her again, Bill?" Georg teased. "I figured you were going after her air supply."

"I'm not dumb enough to go after her where there are cameras," Bill said, sounding wounded. "Besides, I have people for that."

"They did good with the fire, but I was a little worried when that amp near my foot burst into flames," Gustav added.

"Speaking of drums, did you see that Shakira chick doing that back bend...?" Georg began, jostling Tom's elbow as he gestured excitedly with his own champagne flute.

"Oh please, Georg, we were all there..." Bill began.

"Hell, yes!" Tom said enthusiastically. "Those hips, and that ass..." His hands curved exaggerated shapes through the air and he gulped the rest of his champagne, holding it out for more and ignoring the sudden flare of challenge in Bill's heavily kohl-lined eyes.

"Hell yeah, those hips don't lie," Georg said with a lewd laugh.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" Tom smirked. "It's not like you're going to be able to hook up with Shakira at the after-party." In fact, he was pretty sure Georg's girlfriend had been shown to a discreet suite on the hotel floor their management had rented out.

"Hey, I can look! If a man doesn't look, he might as well be dead; pack him up and bury him," Georg said. He grinned and slugged Tom's shoulder. "You going to tap that Kenza, man? She's been panting after you for years."

Bill made a fizzling noise and Tom scoffed.

"Please, Kenza?" Tom said, waving an expansive hand and very much aware of Bill's eyes tracking him. "If I slept with her I'd have to get someone to send her a C&D five minutes later to have the pictures of my penis taken off her blog."

Georg snickered. "Yeah, but if you frisked her for cameras first--"

"Can we go?" Bill interrupted, shoving his empty champagne flute at someone and buffing his gunmetal gray nails on his jacket. "This is boring, I want to get to the party."

Tom controlled the internal wince. Bill was buzzing next to him, and it was equal parts pissed-off and post-award euphoria.

He grasped at his brother's elbow on the way to the limo. "Don't get too drunk," he said into the outer shell of Bill's ear, when they were forced to pause in the middle of the wedge of security.

"Why?" Bill said, slanting a hard look over his shoulder at Tom. "Why, Tom; why should it matter? We fucking won Best Group; I think I can party as hard as I like. I've got plans, you know." He was keeping the award tucked under his arm as though he thought someone might make off with it if he loosened his grip.

Tom slid his thumb along the inner curve of Bill's elbow, stroking the soft skin there. "You planning on collecting on your bet?"

Bill inhaled sharply, pulling away to stride forward as the wall of security parted to reveal the open door of the limo that was waiting for them.

"Great," Tom muttered under his breath, and climbed in beside him. "This's gonna be a fun night."

He wasn't sure if Bill had read him too well, or not nearly well enough. Tom was knotted up in a swirl of mixed emotions right now, but at the same time he knew that only Bill could disentangle it. He was shocked at their win, yeah. He was riding a swell of fright that it had brought them to the point of doing the one thing he'd denied them for the past few years, for sure. But did he genuinely mean to turn Bill down?

No. No way.

Tom tongued his lip ring as he settled onto the bench seat beside his twin, but Bill was already rummaging through the limo's mini-bar.

"Fuck. Bill, seriously..."

"Don't be a party dud, Tom," Georg said, sliding in on Tom's other side. "We're gonna have fun tonight, and everyone else had a head start!"

"I think even Green Day had had a few," Gustav said with a nod.

Bill laughed, passing around more champagne. "Shit, they had to, in order to put up with being that close to Katy Perry, right?"

Georg snorted into the bubbles in his champagne.

"No, Georg, we didn't toast!" Bill howled, kicking at him with his new platforms.

"Shit, Bill, didn't we toast earlier?" Georg protested.

"No, that one didn't count! All we did was clink!"

Tom raised his brows and grinned, holding up his glass. "To us," he said, sneaking another glance at his intractable twin.

Bill's gaze was firmly fixed on the champagne. "To Tokio Hotel," he modified the toast.

The party was loud, boring, and awash with alcohol, like every after-event they had attended since their early teens. Tom leaned up against a bar and watched Bill circulate with industry people for about half an hour, one of their assistants at his elbow, before he decided, fuck it. They were both grown men, and it was too bad if Bill was acting as though Tom had jilted him at the altar; now Tom was going to have some of the fun that people expected guys his age to engage in.

Gustav was nowhere to be found and it was a sure bet that Georg had been escorted back to the hotel and his girlfriend. Tom grabbed the nearest mixed drink off a passing tray, uncaring as to whether it had been intended for someone else, and went off to find the curviest, biggest-breasted woman in the crowd.

It turned out to be Kenza, so Tom had to back the fuck up and find the second curviest, bustiest woman in the crowd.

Her German wasn't so hot and his English was only passable, but she gave him big eyes and a name he forgot the instant it was out of her mouth. The way she curled up against his side let him know she'd be okay with it if he took her to the bathroom, one of the moderately private rooms in the back, or anywhere else. Tom wrinkled his nose after he'd drained his third drink and excused himself.

"Toilet," he explained, then almost thought he'd have to call his security when she didn't understand the first repetitions of, "Don't follow me!"

Security did have to stand at the door to make sure no one else did.

"Fuck," Tom said into the mirror after washing his hands. He almost scrubbed at his face, remembered the makeup that was still there, and straightened his shoulders to eye his reflection. How had he managed to screw this one up?

"Thought you didn't want to," Bill's voice floated from behind him, and a stall swung open in Tom's peripheral vision.

Tom swiveled around at once, raising both hands. He checked the bathroom out again, automatically, trying to remember whether he'd seen Bill's security standing outside as well. Of course they'd have the same urge at the same time. It was the reason they'd picked a place with two and a half bathrooms.

"Hey," he said, startled.

Bill's mouth quirked. "That's all I get, 'hey?'"

Tom grinned at him hopefully. "Well, anything else requires a bed. And more privacy than we've got."

"That's optimistic," Bill purred, heading for him, and Tom was sure Bill was going to kiss him, or grab his belt buckle, or pin him up against the sink; but his brother squeezed past him with a coy smile and stood hip to hip with him at the sink as he washed his hands.

"Well, we just won Best Group at the EMAs, so...I figured I might get lucky tonight," Tom said, arching a brow.

"Really?" Bill said, giving him a delighted smile. "Did Kenza give you her phone number, finally?"

Tom groaned, leaning away as Bill hip-checked him. "That's not even funny, anymore," he complained. "You know she slips me a new one every time she sees me." Bill knew because he pulled them out of Tom's pants pockets the minute they were out of her sight, and shredded them over the nearest waste receptacle.

"Besides," Tom added, licking his lips nervously. "I've got something way better lined up."

"Better," Bill repeated, brows rising. "Bigger boobs?"

Tom ducked his head. "Nah...flat, but...sexier."

"Really," Bill said, flicking his tongue out and flashing tongue stud. Now he sidled up to Tom, putting one arm around him and bracing both his hands against the sink, boxing Tom in. "This a sure thing?"

Tom looked right into Bill's eyes, hope twisting together with mad lust in his belly. "God, I hope so," he said softly. "If I haven't screwed it up by seeming...indecisive."

"You really want to?" Bill said directly, his eyelashes flickering, veiling his piercing brown eyes with smoky shadow. "I shouldn't have to force you, Tomi. It shouldn't be...you know, because of a bet."

Tom pulled in a harsh breath and lifted one hand to Bill's waist, thumbing over the heat of the skin there. Bill's body ran so hot, crazy-hot, and Tom wanted to drop to his knees right there and nuzzle against his stomach. Bill's heady mix of excitement and arousal, the spicy, musky scent of him, was enough to tempt Tom to forget where they _were_.

"I'm sorry I made you wait for so long," Tom said at last, when Bill's eyes fluttered open and he gave Tom a dark, wanting look.

Bill bit his lip. "It's okay," he assured him. "And I got you a...present? For whether we won or not, really." His grin was slow, devious. Promising.

"Can I have it now?" Tom asked, fascinated. They rarely got each other presents, as such. From Bill, it was usually something good, or sexual, or both.

Bill laughed, pressing his hand over Tom's against his stomach. "No, you have to wait for later. If you're good," he said, low-voiced.

"Think we could--" Tom began, glancing toward the door of the restroom.

Bill gave a tiny huff of disappointment. "No, I didn't have them clear it," he said sadly. "Someone could come in any second."

"God, we're going to be here for hours," Tom groaned, pressing forward far enough that his belly bumped against Bill's hand.

"Drink more," Bill advised, pulling away from him, then laughed as Tom's face fell. "Tom! We can't leave the EMA after-party early; we're the label's crowning glory right now!"

Tom muttered something unappreciative about their label and followed Bill out of the restroom, woeful for his dick's prospects of satisfaction in the near future and thinking maybe the ice cubes out of a cocktail glass would do him some good, because drinking sure wouldn't. He returned to the loud-thumping bass of the party and held up the bar with his elbows, for a while, ignoring Jost's attempts to wave him over and play nice with record executives.

Bill was flitting around the party like the incandescent light that drew the moths to flame, and eventually Tom was no longer able to resist. He returned to Bill's side and remained there as firmly as though they'd been conjoined, letting his drink stay half-full so that no one offered to replace it and giving everyone vague smiles. Bill shifted from foot to foot and Tom wondered how he did it, wearing heels for twelve hours, not as though he needed to be any taller or make his legs appear any longer. 

The further they got into the night the more Bill lost his grasp on English, and at last he turned to their assistant with a quick word.

"Yeah, the car's ready outside," she answered, and Tom perked up.

Bill patted his leg absently in the car as the city lights blurred past the tinted windows. "I wonder where Gustav got off to," he said aloud.

'I don't really care,' Tom thought, but kept it to himself. "Off partying, having himself a good time," he said noncommittally. Gustav was a quiet fellow but surprisingly good at mingling; better than Tom, who could put on a front for interviews but sucked at small talk. He slid his foot in beside Bill's and rubbed firmly against his instep.

"Oh," Bill gave a small sigh, tilting his head back and letting his spikes crumple under the weight of his head against the seat back. "That's nice. I can't believe we won."

"Yeah," Tom said. He let his own head fall back against the seat rest. He was still kind of in shock over that. Green Day. The Disney juggernaut Jonas Brothers. "I'm glad we did, though."

Bill gave him a sly glance. "You were going to get lucky either way, you know," he said quietly, wetting his lips with his tongue.

Tom suppressed a groan. That fast, with only that much of Bill exposed, he was hard. Bill kept petting at his leg, running his nails along the inseam of his jeans, and Tom was glad for the lingering haze of alcohol to take the edge off, otherwise he'd be in danger of creaming his boxers ridiculously fast.

"Fuck, Bill..."

"Yes," Bill said, very, very softly. "You will." And he gave his most wicked grin.

With perfect timing, as it turned out; the car pulled up to the curb, and he was turning for the door as security opened it for him. Tom winced, surreptitiously adjusted himself, and followed. The real reason for the baggy jeans was goddamn Bill and his own goddamn cock, popping erections at regular Bill-induced intervals. Tom was never going to be able to wear jeans that fit. Maybe six months after he was dead.

Tom stumbled after Bill, aware that he probably looked drunk to the screaming legion of fans on the curb and past the point of caring. He was getting laid, they had just won an EMA, he was getting laid, and Bill's tight ass was sashaying in front of him.

Fuck. Bill's tight ass. _Fuck._

Tom palmed his face and pulled his coat closed a little more tightly around him as he dragged his gaze up _off_ his brother's ass. He was about to find out exactly how tight it was, for real and not just fingers, and he was beyond glad they weren't expected to sign anything for the fans lining the path up to their hotel because everything he scribbled off on paper right now would probably look more like "im fucking bill" and less like "tom." Or maybe just smiley faces. He could manage smiley faces.

Bill didn't give him a single glance as they breezed through the hotel doors and the endless lobby and lingered by the elevators. Security fanned out around them in a loose semi-circle, on the alert in case someone had gotten inside.

"Did they check my room?" Bill asked Lars, as they boarded the elevator.

Lars gave him a crisp nod. "All clear."

There was elevator music, and Bill's hand brushed up against the back of Tom's hand, setting him alight with that single touch. Tom was painfully aware that his cock was still hard, and tried to figure out how Bill _did_ it. Something Zen? He wore such tight pants, he'd show if he was even the slightest bit erect. Tom glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye; found him wearing a mysterious smile.

He was done for.

"Want to have a few more drinks?" Tom offered when they reached their floor, and he didn't want to think about the fact that even their security probably knew what _that_ coded for. The only one who hadn't figured it was Georg, and that was because Georg still had a hopeless crush on him. Or Bill. Or both; Tom hadn't really figured it out and didn't quite care.

"Sure, I'm not tired yet," Bill replied, bouncing on the balls of his feet and giving Tom a quick grin as Lars headed out, checking corners and preceding them as though he expected a horde of fangirls to stampede the elevator. "My room? I haven't touched the mini-bar yet."

Tom smirked at the back of Bill's neck. If there was a 'don't disturb' sign handy, his night would be complete.

They had to wait until Lars checked Bill's room, too – it really wouldn't have been the first time a girl had made their way into one of their rooms expecting, as Gustav put it, a 'dirty session.' At last the door clicked shut as Bill tossed his jacket across a chair back with a sigh, and Tom turned instantly to bolt it and hook the chain.

"Tom," Bill said, his voice alluring.

Tom leaned against the door for a second, palming his cock now and willing himself not to spontaneously combust. He turned from the door, licking nervously at his lips.

"Tom...ohh, it's hot. So hot, right here," Bill murmured, sprawling back against the bed, curling his fingers over his starred hip and rubbing the skin that he exposed there. He trailed his fingers back and forth over his belly, locking his eyes on Tom. "It's on fire, Tomi; you have to put it out." He stretched, and Tom watched and could only gape for a moment, fixed in place out of sheer admiration.

"God, Bill, want you so bad," Tom groaned, making a straight line for the bed and shedding his clothes as he went. He kicked off his shoes and stood over Bill in only his jeans.

Bill trapped Tom's thigh between both his, squeezing and regarding him with heavy-lidded eyes. "Yeah?" he murmured. "You want to fuck me, Tom?"

Tom's cock leaped with excitement at the thought. Bill's eyes flared, and Tom knew that his little brother had caught that, seen the twitch, knew how turned on it made him. "Yeah, yes," he breathed. He leaned over Bill but his twin had his thigh trapped, hard, and that didn't let Tom move very far. "Bill..." He leaned over and brushed a hand through Bill's rough crest of hair, working his fingers through the stiffened, upswept bristles.

"You want inside me?" Bill continued, pulling his shirt up with one hand and exposing a sliver of soft, pale stomach. He grabbed one of Tom's hands and set it to the buckle of his belt.

"Yes, God, Bill," Tom moaned, toppling over Bill and bracing himself with a hand on Bill's shoulder, working at his buckle with one-handed determination. "Want you so bad, please."

Bill's lips curled up with satisfaction and he was arching back against the bed, pushing his groin against Tom's wrist with a low moan. "Don't make me wait any longer," he begged.

"No, not gonna," Tom promised, shaking his head back and forth and tickling Bill's throat with his dark braids. He pressed his mouth against Bill's and Bill let him in, sliding his tongue against Tom's in glad welcome and tickling the bead of his tongue stud against him. "God, I think I'm gonna burst, there's no way I could make you wait any longer."

He kissed and thrust against Bill, getting his buckle open, and they grasped at each other while Bill panted hotly into his mouth. Tom groaned when Bill hooked a leg around him and they thrust again. Bill was hard beneath him, so hard, and the skin of his belly was so hot as Tom rubbed his fingers across it.

"Fuck," Bill spoke directly into Tom's mouth, as they began to hump frantically.

"Wait...wait," Tom groaned, eyes screwing shut as Bill's tongue stroked his and shut him up. He thrust jaggedly against Bill and whimpered as he pumped once, twice, and came in his boxers with one of his twin's legs wrapped around the small of his back.

Bill pulled his mouth away. "Did you just...?"

Tom groaned and rested his forehead against Bill's. "It's your fault," he complained.

Bill stretched up and nipped at his neck, beginning to giggle. "Oh my God, you came in your pants," he said amusedly. "You haven't done that since we were teenagers."

"Since last year, you mean," Tom said, wry.

"Same thing." Bill struggled up onto his elbows, unclutching his leg from Tom. He was grinning, his dark eyes sparkling. "I think it's time for me to go and get you that present."

"Present?" Tom repeated interestedly.

"Yeah, stay there, stud," Bill said, rolling off the bed and flashing boxer-clad ass as his pants slipped down off his hips. Instead of grabbing for them he let them fall, and leaned up against the nightstand to lift first one foot, then the other, pulling the wedge heels off and tossing them at a nearby chair.

Tom let himself be distracted watching him, for a moment, before realizing he could be taking more clothes off. Hurriedly he shed his jeans, making a face as he peeled off the boxers he'd hosed down with his first load of come, tossing them both aside and laying back on the bed.

Bill returned in nothing but an enticing smile, holding a box almost shyly over his groin. "Okay, don't...don't laugh, all right? You have no idea how hard it was to get ahold of this!"

Tom widened his eyes and got up on one elbow. "That's not a promising start..." he complained.

"Just open it," Bill commanded, climbing onto the bed beside Tom and curling around the box.

Tom eyed him, but reached to open the box as commanded. He lifted the lid off and stared. "Bill, it's..." He was speechless for a moment. He frowned, then his expression cleared. "Wow. You found one so much like ours."

"I know, right!?" Bill exclaimed, clapping his hands excitedly. "I had to look through, like, thousands! It took me forever!"

Tom regarded the toy nestled in the box with a mixture of awe and natural wariness. It looked a lot like theirs with the foreskin removed, in fact; it was the right length, shape, and thickness. There were buttons on a shaft at the base. "It vibrates?"

"Uh-huh," Bill confirmed, stretching forward on the bed and licking a stripe over Tom's lips.

"And you want me to put it in you," Tom continued, belly warming again at the very thought. "To get you ready for me."

"Oh, yes," Bill said, low-voiced and throaty as he lay on his side and stroked one hand over his own hip again. "Please, Tomi. I need it."

Fuck, Tom thought to himself, and part of him fought the idea, wanting to breach Bill first, on his own. Bill had already taken his fingers, though; and now he'd take this toy for him, and then...then they'd be connected in that last, most final way. No more barriers between them. He thrust against Bill's thigh even though he wasn't really hard enough yet to make it count.

Bill groaned and stretched forward for a kiss. "So...will you?" he asked, when they broke after exploring each other's mouths thoroughly enough to set them both to breathing hard again.

"Yeah, God, I think I have to," Tom groaned, shifting until he had Bill under him, on the bed.

Bill sprawled below him, rubbed a foot against Tom's calf, and managed to look decadent; all that pale, bare skin for Tom to feast on, the loops of his side tattoo naked underneath Tom's exploring fingers. "I washed it already," he said helpfully.

Tom was panting; Tom had to get a grip on himself. He knelt between Bill's thighs and pulled the toy free of its packing. "So..." Fingers first, he decided. He stroked Bill's thigh in rapt absorption for a moment, grateful for everything that he had spread before him and the fact that they weren't doing this for the first time with one or two dogs scratching mournfully at the door, then he had to rouse himself to go find the lube that Bill _always_ packed.

"Don't take too long or I'll come," Bill warned him, stretching an arm over his head to grip the headboard. One hand was moving lazily between his thighs.

"You think _you're_ gonna come?" Tom mumbled, uncapping the lube and warming it before he even dared approach the pink little hole that Bill was exposing for him. Bill lifted one leg and rotated his hips, making a sound deep in his throat before Tom even touched him.

"You better not," Bill told him, lifting his head to fix Tom with an expectant glare. "The next time I feel come, it better be on the _inside._ "

"Oh." Tom gulped, tickled a finger against Bill's cleft, and had to squeeze his eyes shut when Bill dipped his hips and pushed himself onto Tom's finger. The heat was incredible, and the tightness clamped down around him like a hungry, sucking mouth. Tom was moaning before he even got a second finger in there, and Bill was tilting his pelvis and making throaty noises.

"More," Bill said breathlessly. "More...unh!...Tomi, more, I need it." Tom obeyed, drizzling lube from the bottle and pressing another finger, and another. He fucked into Bill with only the pressure of his fingers and tried to think of anything but coming, the tight heat grasping his fingers, coming, his dick, or any combination of the three. His mouth hung open and he panted in tandem with Bill as his twin stretched, whined a little, then set one leg over Tom's shoulder and dug into his skin with bare toes.

"Please," Bill said at last, his eyes fogged mostly-shut and his face beaded with sweat.

Tom reached up to stroke over the starred hip with reverent fingers. He wanted in there, himself, but the tightness scared him a little, and he wanted to open Bill up for his dick with no problems. "You sure?" he asked anyhow, making Bill spit out a curse and rock his hips. "Okay, okay."

He lubed up the toy, next, covering it with a generous sheen then guiding Bill's other leg over his shoulder. Tom had the best position – he could see everything; Bill's lust-gone expression, every twitch of his hard cock, and the pinkly-glistening hole that was waiting for the tip of the toy that he set against it, now. Bill made another noise, a soft grunt, and cracked his eyes open to watch.

"You've never...?" Tom began, and Bill shook his head quickly.

"You'd know as well as I would, if I had with anything but fingers," he replied, voice strained. "Tom, I...please!"

Tom nodded, bit his lip, and began to work the head of the toy past Bill's resistance. He watched what he was doing, both where the lube-coated tip was going into Bill, and Bill's strained, half-crazed expression. He hated not being able to _feel_ what was doing on; he had only half the cues to work from. Bill hissed and Tom went slower, working the toy around inside of him in small rotations.

"Oh...God..." Bill's head went back.

"Good or bad?" Tom wanted to know.

"Uh, I don't..." Bill's voice was muffled and he grabbed at his cock, squeezing it. "Both? Oh...like I want you to move it, but...not."

Tom nodded, licked his lip, and pushed his hardening cock surreptitiously into the bedspread, promising it a turn as soon as possible. He kept the toy where it was and fiddled with the buttons at the base, switching it on. It began to buzz, the vibrations coursing through his hand and directly into Bill's body.

"Oh...uhh!" Bill released a deep groan and Tom watched in surprise as the toy slid further in without any urging. "Oh God...oh, Tom! Tom!"

Tom grinned and sank his teeth into his lip, wrapping his fingers firmly around the base and pumping the toy gently back and forth. Bill moaned and rocked his hips up, pulling at his swelling cock.

"Is it all the way in?" Bill's voice asked faintly, as though from very far away.

"Uh-huh," Tom confirmed, watching with fascination as he pressed the toy in to the hilt and thumbed the vibration higher.

"Oh...oh!" Bill cried, louder than before. He drove his hips up and began to rock steadily up into the motion of Tom's hand pushing the toy back and forth into his body. Tom shifted his grip and changed the angle, grinding against the bedspread again as he stroked deep into Bill. "That's...fuck, oh, Tom..."

"You like that?" Tom murmured, making the angle steeper, aiming for that one spot.

Bill screamed and thrashed underneath him, punching his hips up and nearly smacking Tom in the face with his cock. "Get on me," Bill ordered in a hoarse, desperate voice. "Tomi, I need you, I want to feel _you._ "

Tom was nodding, braids coursing over his shoulder and fanning out against Bill's pale skin as he knelt over him. He disengaged the toy from Bill's body and checked it briefly, tossed it in the box, and shoved that away from them.

"You want..." he began, unsure how to bring up the topic. He'd always been safe and thought maybe they should keep it up now.

" _In_ me," Bill commanded, lifting his hips and spreading his legs a little wider. He reached down to finger himself, as though to keep himself open for Tom.

Tom shuddered and reached for the lube again. "I love you," he said helplessly, unable to say anything else.

"Less talk, more getting rid of Bill's virginity," Bill groaned, biting his lip.

"Okay," Tom breathed. "Okay." It was what Bill wanted, so it had to be okay. Bill had already told him in so many ways, and it had taken them this long to get to this point.

Bill was ready; it had taken Tom this long to let Bill inside that final wall.

He knelt over Bill and joined their mouths as Bill squeezed at his back with his calves. Tom wanted that connection when they managed this final one together. He dipped his cock into Bill's cleft, resting against the impossibly radiant heat there, and Bill made a muffled, encouraging noise directly against his tongue.

Tom pushed, Bill gasped, and they slid together hotly.

"Oh," Bill groaned, his face clenched and temples sweating.

"Gonna...unh..." Tom groaned, not sure what he was going to do, but sure it was going to be fantastic as he lurched, slipping deeper into the velvety clutch of Bill's hot little body.

"Yes, oh...oh, yes," Bill responded, holding himself still and looking pained as he waited for Tom to work himself deeper inside him.

"Yeah?" Tom whispered, sweating as he tried to hold back enough to make it good for both of them. If he pushed all the way in and came, he was going to kill himself.

"Yes, Tomi, yes," Bill said, reaching up to scratch over his shoulders, his neck. "Come on, I need it; I need you."

Tom groaned and sank himself into Bill, unable to stop himself with the little encouragements Bill was giving him, tracing fingernails over his skin, lifting his chin up, glittering eyes taking him in and a soft, constant whisper asking for more, more.

Bill moaned once Tom was balls-deep, and began to pulse his hips.

"Fuck, Bill," Tom groaned, maddened beyond endurance.

"Yes, yes; fuck Bill, please, Tomi," Bill urged him, shoving up against him and panting hot breath along his jaw.

"Bill," Tom gritted, pulling back and thrusting back into him with a wet smack. Bill gave a little shriek, clutching at his nape and arching his spine, and Tom pulled out and did it again.

"Ahh! Yes, Tomi, more," Bill begged, face contorting in pleasure.

Tom groaned low, so fucking turned on his skin felt tight, and he began to rut into Bill with steady, even thrusts.

"Faster...ah, mm, _harder_ ," Bill demanded, meeting every thrust with an eager roll of his hips.

"Is it good?" Tom panted, bracing himself over Bill with both hands and pumping away, the last of his restraints unleashed.

"Oh, God," Bill cried, tossing his sweaty head, rumpling his crest against the pillows. "Fucking...yes, don't stop!"

Tom pounded into him in earnest, fucking into his brother, his twin, until sweat ran down both of their faces and Bill was burning, pale and brilliant, beneath him. Tom paused, pulling out partway and getting up onto his knees, then driving himself deeper and more firmly into Bill's hot little body.

"Ahh!" Bill cried, his legs tightening over Tom's shoulders. "Gonna...oh, God, I'm gonna come!"

"Come on," Tom panted. His own balls were tingling, full, and despite his earlier climax he was ready to go if Bill so much as squeezed down around him one more time. He'd never realized it could be so good.

"Mmm," Bill moaned, and rubbed up against him, writhing on the end of his dick. "Ahh, Tom, Tomi!" He arched again, hand working furiously between their bodies, then come was spattering wet and warm over Tom's chest and stomach. Bill clamped down like a vise around his cock.

"Ahh..." Tom leaned closer over Bill and caught him with his mouth open, in the throes of orgasm as he gave a final roll of his hips. Bill bit his lip with a hungry whimper.

Tom shuddered and came.

Bill made soft sounds underneath him, still milking him as he tightened around him a few last times, bumping their bellies together. Tom lay stunned over him, lips moving soundlessly. He thought he might still be coming, for a moment. He pushed his dick deeper into Bill and they both twitched.

"Ahh...oh, get off me," Bill whimpered. "Too much."

Tom leaned back on his heels and disengaged. He bent to kiss Bill but his brother was already rolling off the bed, flashing a sated smile his way. With a groan, Tom collapsed onto his side over the mussed bedspread.

"So much for the afterglow," Tom said with a laugh, watching Bill sashay for the bathroom, one hand reaching back to press at his butt.

Bill cast a sultry look over one shoulder at him. "Fuck the afterglow; aren't you joining me? I need someone to wash my back."

Tom's eyes widened. Three times in one night? Hell, yes.

"Tom?" Bill called, one leg in the shower, the other still on the shower rug as Tom rounded the corner and paused in the doorway to admire the best thing in his life for a moment.

"Mm," Tom mumbled, turning, scratching, and checking his stomach in the mirror. He grabbed some toilet paper to wipe off some of Bill's autograph even though he was just about to get in the shower.

"If we win the NRJs again, you'll let me, right?"

"Uh-huh," Tom agreed absently, leaning in to frown at a blemish, then looking down at his taut stomach. "Wait, what?"

Bill grinned at him then jumped into the shower, hauling the curtain shut behind him and immersing himself in the spray. "You already said yes!" he crowed. "If we win another NRJ, we'll go all the way with me on top."

Tom pulled back the curtain and climbed in after. He smirked over at his excited twin. "Who says we have to wait for the NRJs?"


End file.
